


cross my heart, hope to die

by all15ofthem



Series: cross my heart [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all15ofthem/pseuds/all15ofthem
Summary: “Something’s off,” Ian explains, “but it’s probably the meds, don’t worry about it.” Mickey snorts and shakes his head, motioning for Ian to start walking again when the light turns green. “Nah man, you’ve been taking your meds and vitamins on time, eating as properly as possible, and sleeping at least 4 hours a night,” he says as he tallies Ian’s meager achievements on one hand. “You know what’s wrong, and the meds ain’t it. But don’t worry, it’ll pass.”Ian feels disoriented, like a stream of water that responds to the frequency of the sound waves around him, forced to move to everyone else’s will. Everyone except for Mickey. Mickey’s sound wave doesn’t force him, only guides him to where he didn’t know he wanted to go. The sound of Mickey’s voice makes him want to do something with his life, to go places, experience things. Even when the haze of his meds diminishes his lust for life, Mickey can sometimes make himfeelsomething; a little bit alive, worthy of a place in the world, loved. And Mickey seems to always be aware of him, conscious of where Ian is even if he isn’t with him in that moment, not randomly forgetting he exists until he becomes useful or entertaining again.





	cross my heart, hope to die

_You know that feeling when you walk into a room and you just know you forgot something, and it’s right there, in the back of your head and on the tip of your tongue and in the corner of your eye, but… the moment you start looking for it, the thought is gone. You walk back into the previous room in your mind and try to see if there are any clues left as to what you were initially thinking about but the slate has already been wiped clean and you didn’t make a backup of this document._

_Or when the world has a slight tilt to it and you can’t put your finger on what exactly has changed, or why you’re feeling like leaning to the left and holding on to the banister. Like some outside force is trying to communicate something in a language you don’t understand. There’s static in the air, but the air is in your brain. Like cotton in your ears and the words coming out of your mouth taste strange. As if you’re wearing dirty sunglasses at night that distort your vision to the point that you can’t tell if things are really in front of you or you’re making them up as you go._

_Was it too much coffee, too little food, not enough sleep, different meds? Was it important information, or just the milk, or picking up Liam, or more Vitamin B? Maybe it wasn’t important. Maybe it’s just a sliver of paranoia shining through the haze of your meds and your body is trying to balance itself out. Maybe it’s some childhood trauma that found its way up to the surface of your mind. Maybe it’s death. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a headache, bit of a migraine. Maybe it’s everything else--_

The sharp sound of Mickey’s laugh rips through all of Ian’s thoughts, shattering his worries as happiness oozes through his body at the sound, a smile automatically spreading over his face, his brain seemingly unable to control his lips when Mickey is around. It’s as if Mickey’s presence is the only thing pulling him out of the darkness of his own mind these days, the only anchor that doesn’t seem to melt through his fingers like the fickleness of the rest of his family. The adults look at him like he’s the second coming of the blonde anti-Christ on a road paved with good intentions, and the children are wondering if the baseball bat will actually hit them the next time around, but at least they appreciate the early-morning pancakes.

His release from military prison and subsequent diagnosis had resulted in him cleanly dividing his life into Pre-Mental and Post-Mental. His condition had cut off the roots of his life, leaving his present exposed and his future floating precariously in the wind, _just_ out of his reach but for everyone else to accidentally bat around in either direction. It had made him into something like that video Carl had shown him of how the frequency of sound waves influences the shape of a stream of water. Ian’s the water, and everyone else forces him to move to the frequency of their sound wave, unaware of what it does to him or whether he wants to go there.

Everyone except for Mickey. Mickey’s sound wave doesn’t force him, only guides him to where he didn’t know he wanted to go. The sound of Mickey’s voice makes him want to do something with his life, to go places, experience things. Even when the haze of his meds diminishes his lust for life, Mickey can sometimes make him _feel_ something; a little bit alive, worthy of a place in the world, loved. And Mickey seems to always be aware of him, conscious of where Ian is even if he isn’t with him in that moment, not randomly forgetting he exists until he becomes useful or entertaining again.

It isn’t until his favorite sound has been absent for a few moments that Ian realizes he’s been stuck in his own head again, standing still at the corner of the street, waiting for a light that has probably switched at least three times without him crossing. He looks around him to find Mickey standing next to him, patiently staring at him with one delicate eyebrow arched, a soft smile on his face and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth as he waits for Ian to return to the land of the living. Ian grimaces and reaches back to knead the back of his neck, trying to release the tension he knows is building there and will result in a migraine later. Mickey tilts his head at the action, dark brows rising as he silently asks the obvious question.

“Something’s off,” Ian explains, giving up on his neck and just rolling his shoulders front to back instead, “it’s probably the meds, don’t worry about it.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head, motioning for Ian to start walking again when the light turns green.

“Nah man, you’ve been taking your meds and vitamins on time, eating as properly as possible, and sleeping at least 4 hours a night,” Mickey says as he tallies Ian’s meager achievements on one hand. “You know what’s wrong, and the meds ain’t it. But don’t worry, it’ll pass.” Mickey then looks up at the sky and grimaces, noting the dark clouds rolling in. “Now hurry the fuck up, it’s gonna rain soon.”

Ian debates getting further into all the things that give him migraines but decides to tag it onto the General Stress of Life section instead of worrying about it too much, which would only add to the migraine. Mickey has lit up his cigarette and is walking a few steps ahead of him, trying to subtly urge Ian to walk faster by increasing his own pace. He’s telling Ian some lively story about a recent job he did with his dad and brothers, and Ian feels a tiny jab of guilt flit through his thoughts as he wonders if Mickey has been doing jobs with his dad again so he can secretly pitch into the squirrel fund and help pay for some of Ian’s vitamins. Mickey continues his story, recalling how pissed off Mandy was that she wasn’t allowed to come along even though the job was pretty close to New York and she had wanted to visit and ‘do some gay shit like go to Broadway or something, not like we can afford that crap anyway’. He smiles as he tells Mandy’s part of the story, clearly not minding the gay Broadway shit in the slightest, probably even having looked up how much the tickets cost, and Ian catches up to him quickly to try to steal his cigarette, but Mickey keeps it out of his reach and then flicks it away from them instead.

Ian stops in his tracks and glares at him, and Mickey snickers under his breath as he approaches the door of the pharmacy, almost smacking into it when the automatic doors don’t open as they should. He swears and kicks at the glass, and Ian quickly walks forward, not wanting to get banned from the only pharmacy in the vicinity that carries all of his pills because Mickey decided to break down their door. The doors open smoothly as Ian approaches, and he triumphantly smirks at Mickey, who flips him off and follows him inside.

“Guess they programmed it not to let those short Southside thugs into the store, huh,” he jokes.

Mickey rolls his eyes as they’re walking up the shampoo-and-conditioner aisle. “Your tall orange ass is just as much of a thug as I am. Remember that old lady y’all got from the morgue and passed off as your aunt after cutting off her toe. That’s some pretty thuggish shit right there.”

A sharp stab in the back of his neck has Ian grimacing slightly. He shushes Mickey softly and tries to cover Mickey’s mouth with his hand but gets his hand swatted away for his troubles and receives a weird look from a woman shopping in the same aisle. Ian tries to smile reassuringly but Mickey glares at her and she quickly scurries out of the aisle as they get closer. Suppressing a sigh, Ian walks to the pharmacy counter to get his prescription filled, hoping that Mickey can keep out of trouble for the ten minutes it generally takes them to provide him with his new set of meds.

Ian feels that Mickey is subconsciously staying close to him, probably because of the migraine. He entertains them as they wait by randomly commenting on the alternative uses of items in the store or the ads hanging around, eventually smacking Ian in the arm with a pamphlet on erectile dysfunction disorder and commenting on the resemblance between him and the guy on the cover.

When Ian’s name is called by the pharmacist, Mickey yells after him to ask for some blue pills, and Ian flips him off before turning to smile at the woman at the counter, who looks towards Mickey with a skeptical look on her face before handing Ian his meds and repeating the instructions. Ian tries to keep his smile from getting too broad when Mickey won’t stop talking shit, so he nods along quickly with the instructions and grabs his meds, thanking the woman as he hurries away, leaving Mickey to swear as he catches up to Ian’s long strides.

“You forgot to get your Vitamin B, asshole!” Mickey yells from the end of the aisle, just before Ian turns the corner. Ian groans as he realizes Mickey is right, and redirects his long strides back into the aisle, loudly wondering why Mickey couldn’t have just grabbed the pills for him, but Mickey is leaning against the rack, right next to the various types of Vitamin B with a smirk on his face.

“I ain’t your bitch, bitch,” he triumphantly notes, pushing off the rack and walking towards the cashier. Ian rolls his eyes and follows, blatantly checking out Mickey’s ass, which looks exceptionally fine in that particular pair of jeans he’s wearing. Ian wonders if he’s wearing them on purpose.

While they stand in line to pay for the vitamins, Ian feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Ignoring Mickey’s snide comments for a moment, he frowns as he reads Mandy’s text message. Mickey audibly groans at the expression on Ian’s face.

“Jesus, what now?”

“Nothing, it’s…” Ian hesitates, that nagging feeling like he’s forgetting something important bubbling up in the back of his head. “It’s just Mandy. She said I can always call her to talk if I want to. Did I forget her birthday or something?”

Mickey snorts in amusement. “She’s probably just on her period and being dramatic or something. Let it go.”

The customer ahead of Ian moves along and Ian quickly shoves his phone back into his pocket to pay for the vitamins, mulling over Mandy’s text as he casually chats with the cashier. Mickey’s exasperated look makes him stretch it out a _little_ longer than necessary, but when Mickey starts harrumphing and looking properly annoyed, he shoves his meds and vitamins into his backpack, bids the girl goodnight and quickly strolls out of the pharmacy, Mickey close behind him.

The clouds above them rip open two minutes into their walk back to the Gallagher house, rain pouring down on them in torrents. Ian lengthens his strides and Mickey bravely power-walks it up next to him until he finally can’t keep up with Ian, breaking into a run instead with Ian chasing him down the block as they yell at each other and laugh, the sound of their laughter and subsequent panting for air vaguely reminiscent of a time long gone. Ian reaches the metal gate of the Gallagher yard first, swinging it open before running up the steps to the front door, laughing hard for no other reason than that Mickey is breathlessly laughing as well as he walks up the steps, a smile on his face as he pants for air.

“C’mon old man, you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to win next time. I barely broke a sweat!” Ian taunts as he puts his backpack down in front of the door, stomping off the mud from his shoes on the porch before untying a still-muddy shoe so Fiona won’t yell at him for dirtying the house.

Mickey flips him off as he tries to catch his breath, bent over with the other hand resting on his knee. Ian grins, not being able to resist teasing him some more as he takes off his other shoe and starts on his socks.

“You can come on my morning runs with me, we’ll start you off slow. Also, maybe stop with the beer. And the smoking, that shit’s gonna kill you one day.”

A sarcastic snort escapes Mickey’s mouth as he straightens up again, stretching his arms up as he takes a deep breath. “Cigarettes will be the last thing to kill me, Gallagher,” he replies dryly.

Ian smirks and moves closer to his boyfriend, licking his lips as he drinks in the sight of Mickey’s favorite shirt clinging to his body, his black hair wet and messy, that beautiful face still a little red from running. Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up but he doesn’t move away from Ian, looking up into Ian’s face with amusement flickering in his steel-blue eyes. Ian stops just shy of their noses touching where he knows he can land a kiss on Mickey’s lips before Mickey can pull away to stand at a more respectable distance from one another. But Mickey still doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from him, and Ian takes that encouragement and rolls with it.

“You want _me_ to try instead?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows as a wicked smile spreads over his face just before he leans closer and steals the kiss he’s been wanting to take all day, quickly stepping back, mischief and arousal clearly reflected in his eyes. Mickey chuckles, licking his lips as he looks at Ian, clearly debating whether he should go along with his game or tease a little longer.

“Anybody home?” he asks instead, looking Ian up and down, his eyes getting darker, voice a little deeper.

“Shouldn’t be,” Ian replies, and he grabs his backpack before he opens the front door and gestures Mickey inside, hoping he’s right.

Mickey pushes past him and goes straight up the stairs, not waiting to see if Ian follows. Ian closes the door quickly but before he can reach the stairs, Fiona walks out of the kitchen with a worried look on her face, Lip close behind her.

“Hey…” she starts off, shooting Lip a look over her shoulder before facing Ian again with a sad smile on her face, “where did you go?”

Ian frowns, looking from Fiona to Lip and back, trying to figure out why they look so sad and worried when he was probably gone for an hour max.

“What do you mean?” he shoots back, trying to understand the situation before flying off the handle at them treating him like an unstable child instead of an adult who’s trying his best.

“I got home early and you were gone, man,” Lip answers, crossing his arms defensively as he comes to stand next to Fiona, forming a wall of judgment between the two of them.

Ian’s temper flares up, not understanding why they are holding him accountable for something as menial as not having informed them of where he was going when they hadn’t even bothered trying to help him when everything first went to shit, when he was catatonic in Mickey’s bed, or when he flushed his pills and Mickey had to take him to the doctor for a new prescription. Ian holds up his backpack and shakes it lightly, water dripping down from the bag as he does.

“I went to get a refill for my meds if that’s okay with everybody. You know, those pills I have to take three times a day so I don’t go crazy and kill myself.”

Fiona face drops, and she immediately steps forward and spreads out her arms as if wanting to hug him, but Ian takes a step back and glares at her, and then Lip. Lip’s mournful expression throws him off, not having expected anything from Lip but more backtalk and patronizing instructions, but before he can comment on it, Mickey yells at him from upstairs to hurry up so he can get his dick in him already. Ian can’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips before he tries to get his poker face back on, but Lip evidently noticed.

“Are you okay?” Lip asks, that strange, worried look on his face again, “Do you want me to call the psychologist for an appointment this week or something? Do you need... anything?”

Ian looks around him bewildered, wondering what he has done now that is making his older siblings act like he hasn’t had a grip on his condition for at least two months, which was no skin off their backs considering that Mickey had been the one to drag him to doctor’s appointments and pharmacies, making sure he was fed properly and taking his meds on time to the point where he had managed to drag Ian through the haze far enough for Ian to be able to walk on his own. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pushes down the groan he knows is bound to escape, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and then slowly make Mickey unravel underneath him, but also wanting to get this conversation over with without Lip continuously nagging about what he thinks will be best for Ian.

“Yeah, sure, make me an appointment,” he responds casually as he backs up towards the stairs, his hand finding the banister. “What are we having for dinner later?”

“I made lasagna, Mickey’s favorite...” Fiona replies, a bit more chipper, even though it seems like she’s trying too hard to appear happy.

“Great, we’ll be down for dinner in about an hour,” Ian turns around and starts running up the stairs before yelling down one last warning, “do not disturb!”

He rounds the corner to find Mickey sitting on his bed, having changed into a dry shirt and boxers, calmly reading one of Ian’s gun magazines. In the back of his head, Ian recognizes the sound of the front door slamming shut, but he doesn’t care who came in or left the house as he drops his backpack at the foot of his bed and steps back to slowly peel off his wet shirt, making sure that Mickey is watching him over the top of the magazine. When he starts unbuttoning his pants, Mickey’s blue eyes are shot and the magazine lays forgotten on his lap, but Ian stops himself from stepping close enough for Mickey to touch him, wanting to tease him a bit more. Just as he tosses his pants on the floor, his phone starts beeping insistently, and Ian groans as the sound snaps Mickey out of his horny trance. He grabs his pants again and fumbles into his pockets, surprised to find that the phone is still working considering his clothes are completely soaked, and turns off the alarm. When he looks up, Mickey has started reading the magazine again, this time with a smirk on his face as he blatantly ignores Ian’s almost-nakedness.

“Go get some food and take your pills, we’ll continue this later,” he says, flipping a page and pretending to be interested in an article. Ian suppresses a tantrum, wanting to stomp his feet like a child and hold his breath till his face goes purple. Instead, he rips open his backpack, grabs the two pill cases and the vitamin B, roughly puts them down on the dresser and opens them, taking out the three pills he needs and swallowing them dry before looking for a shirt to cover his cold body while simultaneously trying to imagine what food should be left in the fridge at this time of day.

He finds a shirt on a pile on the floor next to the door, and after pulling it on, he realizes that his formal army suit, pants and shoes are lying discarded underneath it. Frowning, he tries to remember why he would have abandoned his clothes on the floor like that, but a deep sigh coming from behind him distracts him, and Mickey’s hand softly coming to rest on his shoulder makes him jump for no reason at all.

“Not now, Ian, go get a snack. Those pills are gonna fuck up your stomach if you don’t eat something soon.”

Ian turns around to say something back, but the words stay stuck in his throat as Mickey closes the distance between them, giving him a rather chaste kiss, all lips, no tongue. Ian melts into it regardless, and after a few seconds of sweet, heavenly pressure, Mickey leans back to hold Ian’s face in between his hand, staring straight into his soul.

“You can survive this, Gallagher, now off you go...”

Mickey releases Ian’s face and returns to sit on the bed, grabbing the gun magazine again and flipping to the next page. Ian’s thoughts, a bit distracted from the kiss, implore him to go to the kitchen for food so he can continue eating up Mickey afterward, and his feet find the purpose they need to walk towards the stairs leading down into the kitchen. Standing on top of the stairs, he can hear the soft sounds of Jeopardy playing on the tv and Fiona talking on the phone in the living room. Ian goes into stealth mode and sneaks down the stairs, passing over the squeaky stair so Fiona doesn’t hear his descent. He takes a quick look around the corner to make sure she’s still in the living room, and with Lip nowhere to be seen, he dashes for the fridge. As he slowly opens the fridge door, he takes a look around the kitchen in case anyone left a snack or piece of fruit around, but only finds a seemingly old newspaper and an empty glass on the counter.

Wondering who thought it useful to steal an old newspaper, Ian rummages through the meager contents of the fridge and takes out the jug of orange juice and a box of old Chinese leftovers from earlier that week. After pouring juice into the empty glass on the counter, he picks through the box until he finds three pieces of noodles that seem appetizing, and adds a piece of chicken for protein so Mickey won’t yell at him later when his stomach starts hurting. He drinks the glass of juice while absently gazing at the newspaper that reads ‘gang shootout, explosion kills 8’ on page 5. A shiver runs through his body and he wonders if he should take a quick hot shower to prevent himself from getting sick after running in the rain. Putting the glass and his fork in the sink, he returns the leftovers to the fridge and dashes back up the stairs, fully intent on having that shower _after_ banging the everloving life out of Mickey.

Walking into his bedroom with a spring in his step, Ian is confronted with the beautiful but unexpected sight of Mickey Milkovich softly snoring in his bed, sheets drawn up to his chin, facing the wall to leave space for Ian behind him. Debating between letting Mickey sleep and waking him up with a dick up his ass, Ian decides to try the combination of the two, takes off his shirt and slides up behind Mickey. As he puts his arm around Mickey’s waist, Mickey softly mumbles and shifts backwards, closer into Ian’s spoon, and Ian can’t help but bury his nose in Mickey’s damp hair to inhale deeply, knowing exactly what his amortentia potion would smell like. Fatigue unexpectedly hits him like a truck, and as he listens to Mickey’s soft, even breathing, Ian slowly relaxes, his migraine disappearing as he falls into a sleep like the dead.

 

* * *

 

Ian wakes up with a start, a feeling of complete and utter _wrongness_ spreading through his body as he realizes that Mickey is not lying in front of him, that side of the bed already cold. With the meds messing up his internal clock, he tries to figure out how long he was asleep for by looking out the window, but the dark sky doesn’t help much. The front door slams shut as he struggles to get out of bed, meds and fatigue dragging his thoughts through the mud as his brain tries to make sense of the situation. He probably slept for a few hours. Mickey probably woke up before him, tried to wake him up and then got out of bed for a smoke, or a piss, or the lasagna Fiona was supposed to be making for dinner. The options were endless; no need to worry.

As he stands up, the banging in his head starts up with a vengeance, his migraine finally having reached its full potential as it slowly starts creeping down his neck and spine to spread the pain throughout his body. Ian stands still for a moment, trying to take deep, calming breaths to find the power to walk out of the room and not shoot himself to get rid of the insistent throb in his brain, bashing around his thoughts and emotions to the point that he knows he’ll be exhausted again in a few hours. Upon opening his eyes, he ends up looking at the pile of clothes that used to be his crisply ironed army uniform, lying on the floor like a tombstone of his past life, a life he would be grieving if he had the time to deal with something other than his current condition.

Ian slowly starts walking to the staircase, trailing his hand on the wall in case he loses his balance, hoping that there aren’t too many strong scents or loud noises downstairs to aggravate his migraine. He can distantly hear Lip and Mandy’s voices trail into the house, Mandy’s voice somberly greeting Fiona as he’s standing on top of the staircase. Confused, Ian wonders what Mandy could be doing at the Gallagher house at this hour, and whether she is here for him or for Mickey. The thought makes his throat close up unexpectedly, and his heart starts beating too fast, too hard in his chest. Ian clutches onto the wall, leaning his forehead against it as his eyes move into the back of his skull from the pain and the sudden pressure spreading through his chest, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Somewhere in his mind, he hopes Mickey can come along quickly to help him breathe again, to stop this feeling of helplessness by telling him to calm down, to look into his eyes and see that everything is fine, is going to be fine. He can almost feel Mickey’s loving hands on his face, hear his soft voice calmly push away the pain and the panic, and Ian’s breathing slowly calms down again.

Once more, Ian’s lost track of how long it took him to be able to breathe again --it could have been 20 seconds or 3 minutes-- but with the rush in his ears diminished, he can hear Mandy talking to Lip in the kitchen, the rustling of paper and the sound of plates clattering against each other as someone is setting the table. It is only then that he smells the lasagna and realizes that dinner is being served, meaning that he and Mickey had probably only been asleep for less than an hour.

With his migraine throbbing faintly in his ears, he slowly starts down the stairs, consciously taking it step by step in case his balance is still wobbly. When he’s halfway down, the sound of casual conversation has abruptly stopped, but Ian decides to concentrate on getting down the stairs first before he tries to figure out what’s going on with the rest of the people. Finally sticking the landing, he smiles to himself as he looks around the kitchen, three pairs of eyes staring back at him from the dining table, all with different if unexpected emotions. Ian shuffles to the entrance of the kitchen to look around the living room, frowning when he still can’t find Mickey.

He turns around to find the three pairs of eyes still staring at him, no one having moved or spoken to one another since he got downstairs. He sighs deeply, resigning himself to getting lectured or preached at for whatever it is he did wrong that week. Grabbing a clean glass, he fills it up with tap water and shuffles to the dining table, giving Mandy a kiss on her hair as he passes her by, then pulling out a chair and dropping into it with a sigh.

“Alright, just get it over with,” he remarks, vaguely waving his hand in the general direction of his older sister and brother, still wondering if Mandy has anything to do with the whole intervention. Lip and Fiona share a look but it’s Mandy who addresses him as she fumbles with a newspaper.

“Hey Ian… how have you been?”

Ian shoots a confused look her way, stares at Lip and Fiona to see if either of them will further elaborate on this strange line of questioning, and then turns back to Mandy.

“I’m okay, how are you?”

“Honestly,” she smiles, but there’s no happiness in her expression, “I’ve been a wreck. I don’t want to get out of bed. I want this all to have been a dream and just… _wake up_ and pretend none of this even happened, you know?”

Ian’s eyes go wide and he blinks rapidly as he tries to remember what it is that Mandy is going through, but nothing specific comes to mind. Her way of speaking makes it sound much worse than breaking up with a boyfriend or one of her brothers going to jail again. There’s a nagging thought that tells him that it’s something to do with Mickey, but he’s going to have to wait until Mickey’s done smoking outside and then pull him into another room to subtly be able to ask him what’s going on. Ian finds himself slowly nodding, trying to reassure his friend as Lip and Fiona stare at each other some more but provide no useful input to the conversation. Mandy nods along with him for a few seconds, and then, completely unwarranted and without any preamble, bursts into tears, clutching the newspaper to her chest as sobs rack her body. Ian is frozen to the spot, never having seen Mandy cry as if her life depended on it. However, neither Fiona nor Lip seem surprised, Fiona looking at her as if she wants to wrap Mandy up in a blanket and rock her, and Lip softly stroking her hair and back and mumbling sweet nothings near her ear. Ian reaches forward to grab Mandy’s free hand and awkwardly strokes it with his.

The front door opens and slams shut, and the sound makes Ian jump. He looks over his shoulder, desperately hoping Mickey has finally come back to help him deal with this mess, but instead finds Carl walking into the living room a few moments later, his eyebrows rising as he slowly takes off his jacket and observes the scene unfolding in front of him. When his little brother reaches the doorway to the kitchen, he grimaces and instead turns to Ian.

“Hey ehm… I put your shoes inside, they were just standing on the porch.”

Ian’s mouth forms an O as he remembers, and his mind skips a beat as Mandy’s hand squeezes his before he turns back to Carl.

“Did you grab Mickey’s shoes as well, they should be on the left.”

The utter silence that follows his sentence is terrifying; Ian has never seen something he said confuse so many people at the same time. Carl’s face scrunches up as if trying to remember if and where he had seen another pair of shoes on the porch. Mandy’s head shoots up and she immediately stops crying, flinging away his hand and smacking the newspaper on the table, which slowly starts to unroll. Lip stares at Ian, a horrified look on his face, and Fiona is looking from person to person to see if anyone has figured out what’s going on, because she clearly hasn’t. Ian’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he finds the words to explain the shoe story that apparently has everyone’s panties in a twist.

“We went to the pharmacy to fill my prescription earlier, and it rained, and our shoes were wet and muddy, so we left them on the porch…” he ends up putting together, hoping it’ll clear up some of the confusion.

As if on cue, everyone starts talking over each other, but Mandy’s loud and angry voice rings out over the rest, and just as suddenly, everyone shuts up again.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, Ian Gallagher!”

Mandy had gone from heartbroken to homicidal in under a second, and the ice in her voice and the fury in her face make Ian want to get up and put a safe distance between them, but her entire posture makes it very clear that he isn’t going anywhere until he answers her question. As Ian opens his mouth to answer her, something in the unrolled newspaper catches his eye. Mandy notices the shift in his attention and angrily pushes the newspaper closer to him before pushing her chair back and walking to the living room, her expression caught between furious and heartbroken. Lip scrambles out of his seat and follows her, leaving his bewildered siblings behind.

A weight settles on Ian’s shoulders and his migraine chooses that moment to distract his thoughts with a sharp pain, but Ian smooths out the newspaper in front of him, staring at the headline of page 5 without reading it. He feels like he’s back inside the haze of his meds, and though he can see the letters on the page, their combination make no sense to him, so he looks at the pictures instead. The throbbing intensifies as he stares at the mugshots and a picture of a half-burned down warehouse that grace the bottom half of the page. He distantly hears Fiona say something to someone, but his blood is once again rushing in his ears, and the tempo of his breathing is steadily picking up. He pushes himself back from the table, one hand holding onto the newspaper as he stumbles after Mandy, holding the page away from his body as if it has cooties. Ignoring Lip’s intense glare, he faces Mandy as he softly sways, his body screaming at him, his brain stabbing him repeatedly, his chest feeling heavier with every breath he forces himself to take.

“Mandy?” he asks, his voice shaking, but she refuses to look up at him from the couch, or at the page he’s holding in her direction. “Please, Mandy, what happened?”

He tries to gently place the page on her lap, but his balance is shot and he falls to his knees in front of her, smacking his hand into the couch to break his fall. Tears are streaming down his face for a reason his brain isn’t willing to provide, and he pulls the page back to his face so he can look at the pictures again.

“Why is this mugshot in the paper?”

Mandy doesn’t answer him, but soft sobs start shaking her body once more as she closes her eyes, and the feeling of wrongness Ian had the moment he woke up returns a thousand-fold. He stares at the paper as it starts shaking, then looks at his hand as he can no longer control what’s going on, tears still freely flowing down his face and a throbbing pain blooming in his chest. Thoughts and memories fire through his brain, but nothing makes sense, nothing fits. Still, Ian needs to know, needs to understand, needs to figure out why everything feels wrong and hazy and _different_ , so he puts his hand on Mandy’s knee and tries one more time.

“Mandy… where is Mickey?”

The grief-stricken sound that escapes Mandy’s mouth breaks the haze in his mind. Mandy flings herself forward off the couch and throws her arms around Ian as she kneels in front of him, her body convulsing as she tries to breathe, cry and speak at the same time. When Ian looks through his own tears at Lip for help, he realizes that Fiona and Carl are both standing behind the couch. Staring at his sister, his throat can’t form the words anymore, but he pleads at her with his eyes to explain what’s going on, to tell him _anything_ so he can understand why his body is telling him something his brain won’t process as he slowly pets Mandy’s back.

Fiona covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes filled with tears as she shakes her head in disbelief. Carl puts one hand on his sister’s shoulder and squeezes softly before turning to Ian.

“There was only one pair of shoes on the porch, Ian,” he says, as if that explains everything. Ian’s face contorts in confusion, the information not leading him to any conclusions he needs right now, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes one-handedly.

“What Carl is trying to say,” Lip interjects, speaking softly as if to a scared, injured animal, “is that Mickey has not been here today. He hasn’t been here in a few days, Ian.”

Ian narrows his eyes at his brother, trying to figure out if they’re all playing some sick joke on him or if he missed a memo somewhere along the way. Mickey’s clearly taking his sweet time doing whatever it is he was doing, but he had most certainly been at the house earlier that day. He continues petting Mandy absently, clearing his throat to find his voice and set the record straight.

“Mickey was with me at the pharmacy, we got my refill, and we came home together,” he explains, but Lip is looking at him with big, sad eyes, shaking his head at him as if he is a small child misunderstanding a complicated math problem. Ian continues regardless. “I took my meds, we fell asleep, and he probably went for a smoke before I woke up.”

Mandy pushes herself off of Ian, wide eyes turning to look at Lip, who only manages to look more and more broken, which pisses Ian off.

“Fiona, you heard him earlier! He was yelling at me from the bedroom, don’t you remember?!”

Fiona suddenly bursts out in tears and runs towards the kitchen, Carl staring after her until he sighs and runs his hands through his hair, looking exhausted by the whole ordeal. Lip is still staring at him, but his eyes reflect nothing but sadness and pity.

“Where were you yesterday, Ian?” Lip asks, calmly, as if he already knows the answer.

“What the fuck do you mean, where was I yesterday?!” Ian splutters indignantly, glaring at his brother, at the fucking nerve of him.

“Where were you, Ian…” Lip asks again, and it’s the lack of condescension in his voice that makes Ian reluctantly sit back as he desperately tries to remember what he did the day before so he can prove his brother wrong. Mandy hiccups, and Ian’s attention gets caught by her hands lovingly smoothing out the page of the newspaper to the point that Ian can read the title again.

_Gang shootout, explosion kills 8._

He recognizes Mickey’s mugshot alongside Terry, Iggy, and three more people. The pain in his head abruptly returns, getting him dangerously close to fainting, pushing hard on his brain and bringing new tears to his eyes.

_no._

His eyes find the date of the paper and he vaguely remembers a lot of sirens and fire trucks on that day, going towards a warehouse where Mickey had once told him that Terry did most of his business. His body starts shaking.

_Gang shootout, explosion kills 8._

He can hear Mandy calling his name, he can hear Carl, Lip, even Fiona, but he can’t hear Mickey, and something isn’t right--

_No._

His breathing speeds up to the point that he starts seeing stars in front of his eyes. Someone is holding a bag over his face but he can’t get enough oxygen, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe like this, he can’t live--

_Gang shootout, explosion kills 8._

His heart accelerates dangerously as his mind rewinds the day, trying to pinpoint where things had seemed off. The haze desperately tries to cloud his memories, but he forces it away, forces himself to _think_ through the splitting pain, to really _remember_. Something had been wrong all along, and he had known it, but he had buried it within himself, trying to protect himself from something. Mickey had reassured him, Mickey had told him everything was okay, to hold on a little longer, that it would pass. Snippets of conversation float up, and he suddenly catches himself analyzing one particular thing Mickey had said to him earlier.

_Remember that old lady y’all got from the morgue and passed off as your aunt after cutting off her toe._

With a start, Ian realizes that he had never told Mickey about cutting off fake aunt Ginger’s toe. It wasn’t information Mickey could have picked up anywhere else either, because none of the people present that day would have casually thrown that highly incriminating piece of information into a conversation. His mind goes through the rest of the conversations his memory had retained, picking up on clues he had previously ignored, and something in him snaps.

All of the sudden, he can see the signs everywhere, the red flags popping up left and right as sadness starts flowing into his soul. The cigarette. The door at the pharmacy. The woman in the aisle. The woman at the counter. Mandy’s text. Mickey allowing him to be kissed on the front porch, in broad view of where everyone could potentially see them. Mickey’s strange comments.

 _You can survive this, Gallagher._  
_Cigarettes will be the last thing to kill me._  
_Let it go.  
_ _You know what’s wrong, and the meds ain’t it. But don’t worry, it’ll pass._

It’ll pass.  
Let it go.  
You can survive this.

_NO!_

A tortured scream fills his body, his mind, his very soul, and the haze overwhelms him as his throat starts burning and his chest explodes. Images and sounds and memories flood his brain and he can’t hold it back anymore, can’t stop the reality from crashing through his defenses, the walls he had subconsciously built so he could live one more day, smile one more day, love one more day. The images of Mickey in his arms, Mickey in his bed, Mickey on the front porch, Mickey at the pharmacy, Mickey at the stoplight flip by like a movie rewinding, and then suddenly shatter into a thousand little shards of glass. Ian runs towards them, trying to gather them all together and hold them to his chest so he doesn’t lose those last pieces of hope he has left, the last moments with the love of his life. The glass cuts into him, straight into his soul as he presses the shards to his chest, holding them close, trying to push them back into his body through his skin to preserve them forever. The pain is spreading through his body, following the lines in his skin that Mickey has touched, Mickey has kissed, Mickey has punched, and something gives, his mind gives up--

and then he hears a laugh.

That beautiful laugh.

The whole world stops and time stands still, and all he can hear is Mickey’s beautiful, exhilarating laugh at some random thing he has once said, probably a stupid pun he made. Sharp, blue eyes like the summer sky, like the clearest sapphire, like the ocean he has never seen. Dark hair that sometimes sticks up in the mornings, or after a shower, or after Ian is done with him. Red lips that smirk, that sneer, those beautiful red lips that kiss him softly, or like a storm, but always with more passion than he knows what to do with. That face that he can stare at all night, has kissed all over, whose every freckle he has memorized. That soul that is connected to him, that is his equal, his better, the half he didn’t know he was missing until he could no longer live without.

Mickey is smiling at him but he knows, Ian _knows_ he’s not, he knows but he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore. His body is numb, his mind is paralyzed and his soul has a crack down the middle that’s slowly bleeding out. Ian is staring at an old picture in a frame placed on top of a wooden coffin and he knows he was there, he can remember the feeling of his body in his stiff army suit and his formal shoes that are just a little too tight. He can see two more graves, right next to the one he’s standing at, already filled, but it doesn’t matter. He looks at Mandy in her black dress on the other side of the coffin, hands clasped in front of her, hair pulled back in a ponytail and eyes red and puffy, her gaze dead to the world, but it means nothing to him. He can hear Fiona and Lip softly talking behind him, Debbie crying next to him with Carl’s arm around her shoulder. Another voice is talking and with a jolt, the casket starts moving down, down, away from him. Six feet never looked so far away and yet so tempting to follow, and he takes a step forward but a voice stops him.

“Don’t…”

He has heard that sound before, that word, the pain dripping off one syllable, said in one breath. The last time he had heard that word, he had walked away. He had walked away and his entire life had changed, flipped upside down and gone to shit. But this time, _this_ time he wants to stay. He’ll stay, and everything will be fine. He’ll stay, he’ll go with Mickey and--

“Ian. _Don’t._ ”

A shock runs through his body at Mickey’s firm, unyielding, _unforgiving_ tone. Mickey would never do that, would never allow Ian to do that to himself, to Ian’s family, to _his_ remaining family, and Ian’s questionable choice is taken away from him before he can fully commit to it.

“I love you...”

Someone flips a switch that Ian desperately doesn’t want flipped and the numbness slowly leaves his body as all the pains and aches and burning flows back into his limbs, his chest, his head. Ian looks up to find that he’s still sitting on the floor in front of the couch, Mandy kneeling in front of him, Lip on the couch behind her on her left, Carl now sitting on the armrest to her right, holding a paper bag, Fiona overseeing them all from behind the couch. He reaches out for Mandy and she grabs his hand and tries to smile at him, but her lips shake too much to complete the expression.

“He’s gone, Ian,” Lip quietly confirms, but Mandy softly shakes her head at Ian and manages to smile properly this time. A sound between a sob and a chuckle escapes her mouth, and she moves forward so only Ian can hear her speak.

“He’s never gone,” she whispers, putting one hand on his face and drawing him closer, placing her other hand on his chest where his heart is still trying to fight its way out of his chest while simultaneously bleeding to death, “but don’t you dare follow him, Firecrotch.”

Ian’s eyes widen in shock and Mandy smiles even broader through her tears, understanding reflecting in her gorgeous blue eyes.

“I need you, Ian, I can’t do this on my own,” she pleads, resting her forehead against his. “Please don’t…”

Her words spark fireworks in the back of his brain and he can see Mickey’s face in his mind’s eye, looking from him to his sister, nodding in approval as they find strength in one another through their pain. Mickey would never forgive him if he left Mandy alone now, not like this, not if he had a choice, not until the time was right.

Mandy pulls away a little to look Ian in the eye, and her face, her beautiful blue eyes so similar to Mickey’s, are all he can see, all he can focus on to keep breathing, to keep surviving, to keep holding on until it passes, until he can let go.

“For Mickey,” she says, and Ian nods. He smiles. He crosses his heart with his index finger, and Mandy snorts through her tears as she repeats the gesture, a small smile appearing on her face.

He’ll try. Until the time is right.

“For Mickey.”

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to my wonderful beta and omega.


End file.
